


Tomorrow, at your back.

by Suzuranao (IamLurking)



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Follows sidestories, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:33:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22287940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamLurking/pseuds/Suzuranao
Summary: Siegfried, the captain of the Order of Black Dragons. The fugitive. The Kingslayer.None of those titles apply to him anymore, and he finds himself increasingly alright with it. And yet, with the newfound freedom that comes with his name cleared and removal of his post, he finds himself drawn back again to Lancelot, no longer as only a mentor to him.Time and fate will decry what will come out of it.
Relationships: Lancelot/Siegfried (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

It’s a quiet night, the kind that makes him leave his room in only a few minutes, intent on feeling the smallest breeze outside on the deck.

He isn’t the only one with that idea, stepping into the open, cooler space and gazing immediately upon Lancelot, body leaning into the railings, staring at something in the far off distance between the clouds.

He seems far off, distant in thought, jaw clenched as if chewing on something that continues to haunt him. He does not wish to assume.

There is no need for greetings on his side, as the sound of steps make Lancelot look to his way, posture straightening and a visible effort to unclench his jaw is made, hiding whatever troubles him for a moment in his presence.

“Can’t sleep Siegfried-san?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“Yes, you could.” It comes with the smallest smile, half hearted reaction not quite brought out. 

But then again his intention was not to lighten the mood. Lancelot is not as bogged down as he was before. No, his resolve is still steady, but even a steady man can be dragged at every step by the corpses that latch at his ankles.

They don’t exchange words after that, quietly gazing at the expanse of night sky, the unfathomable abyss beneath them, clouds lit up above and beneath as beacons because of the bright moonlight that shines upon them.

The breeze messes his hair, strands and locks flying in his face until he tucks them behind his ear, starting all over when the next gust picks up.

Lancelot has been looking at him furtively from the corner of his eyes, but it is not until he tucks his hair back the second time he stares openly, unabashedly.

And the silence is broken to his surprise.

“I want to be with you.”

The words come out so suddenly he almost misses them, silence broken and attention caught by Lancelot’s voice.

“...you know, tomorrow. You are going with the captain to clean out a den, aren’t you?”

Lancelot is leaning again on the hard wood of the starboard railing, resting both elbows on the surface while looking at him from the side, loose hair and clothes rustled by the soft breeze, usual armor foregone for the comfort of sleep that evades them both.

“I don’t think the captain will mind an extra pair of hands.”

There’s only the a silver of a moon and yet it still throws the brightest beacon of light over the deck, throwing deep shadows in relief. 

Lancelot’s eyes haven’t left him since their words faded in the wind and Siegfried hasn’t averted his gaze either. 

It makes him think of two predators sizing each other up. 

But Siegfried is already aware of what Lancelot can do and vice versa, so instead he wonders what is it the knight captain wants from him underneath that hasty coverup. Wants, but does not enough to take it from him, or else this stalemate would’ve been broken ages ago.

There is someone walking the steps leading to the nearest door, but Lancelot doesn’t seem like he has noticed. Closer and closer, but they veer to the inside hallway instead of opening the door and shattering the moment.

Lancelot is still looking at him, focus set entirely on something Siegfried possesses.

It does not occur at all to Siegfried that it might not be something in his possession but rather himself at all until those steps fade away in the distance, as Lancelot leans in to tuck a stray bang behind his ear, making Siegfried think of retracting those previous thoughts.

It happens too fast for him to do anything but blink, eyes half closed as he finds himself with Lancelot in his personal space, lips pressing against his lightly. That hand is now cradling the side of his face, cold against his cheek.

He isn’t quite sure how to react for one moment, the action taking him by surprise. And yet.

Hindsight tells him it was inevitable.

Lancelot ever rarely asks for something, especially to him. And if this is his request then Siegfried thinks there are worse things to indulge him in, as he finds himself looking forward to the idea.

If he wanted something more, then he would certainly ask it of Siegfried, but as he leans into the hand that cradles his face the kiss deepens, no further requests but to feel more of Siegfried with the hand that settles above his backside.

He wonders how far does Lancelot want to take this tonight, as the brush of a now warm thumb over his cheek brings him back to the moment, settling his hands on Lancelot’s hips as their mouths open and their bodies pressed closer just a bit more.

He smells clean, of soap and that special oil he used to procure to relax his muscles after a long training session. It has been years since he last smelled it, since he last bought it in that one market stall during the weekends.

But he had shared the knowledge with Lancelot and it feels like a straight scene from the past, as if this was happening in the past rather than the present all those years ago. But the captain of the order is not him anymore, and he has no qualms in scratching this itch of carnal pleasure with someone he is nothing but a fellow traveler to them, no longer just a protegé, but also a friend. 

Part of him thinks it has been about time but he shoves those thoughts aside to focus on the hand that threads on his hair, holding now the back of his head and tilt his head properly. 

Siegfried has always been aware of Lancelot’s handsome looks, but he never allowed himself to indulge in the thoughts or requests of it, even as casual relationships were somewhat common in the order during his days as captain. It didn’t feel right and he was more preoccupied with fulfilling his duties properly.

Now, none of those things exist to second-guess the vaguest stirrings of desire and push them away, allowing himself to indulge in the moment, far, _far too long_ since the last time he did this, especially with a man. 

And yet there is someone walking up the stairs again. Siegfried isn't going to take a chance on them turning away again, not when it would destroy the mood and leave them to stick with their thoughts all night again, restlessness increased with frustration of being denied this as well.

"Do you mind if we go?" 

It's whispered against soft lips, undoubtedly bruised pink even if he can't quite catch the color in this pale light. Lancelot inhales deeply to catch his breath while the hand on Siegfried's lower back tightens slightly, as if unwilling to let go just yet. 

"Your room." 

Lancelot mumbles before his gaze turns away and he realizes he's embarrassed, the vague memory of a room always in disarray lingering in the back of his mind. 

Some habits never die it seems and it brings a slight smile to his face, nodding once and walking ahead as if to set the pace. There’s a moment of only his steps before the second set joins him, catching up and lingering less than half a step behind him. Beside, but not quite. 

His room is not in perfect order but relatively clean, definitely more than Lancelot’s if he’s to go by his memories. The blanket is in place, still tucked in as he’d not made a serious attempt to sleep before deciding to walk outside. 

The room fills with tension as the door closes behind them, Lancelot turning the lock with a soft click as if to cement the necessity to not be disturbed during it, and then turns around. 

Those blue eyes stare at him intently once again, as if to size him up, discern intentions before making his own moves, taking low steps until he is almost flush against Siegfried, settling hands on his hips, thumb caressing the small silver of skin that is visible in between the waistband of his pants and the soft sleep shirt he wears.

Siegfried is the one who leans in for the kiss this time tilting his head immediately to pick up where they left off, threading his fingers in those soft black locks as the kiss builds in intensity rather quickly, turning wet and deep in an instant. He draws in a sharp breath through his nose at the sensation of warm fingers dipping underneath his shirt, tips teasingly climbing and brushing against his ribs, transitioning to a full palm groping his side and climbing until it settles on his back, digging slightly into thick muscles and warm skin. 

They’re pressed together now, Siegfried’s bare stomach against Lancelot’s clothed one as his grip on those soft black locks tighten slightly. 

He has the bigger build, but even as slim and built for speed he is, the knight captain doesn’t feel small at all in his embrace, not when he can feel those strong arms against his back, pulling him close. 

“Siegfried-san…”

The kiss is broken by a whisper against his lips, voice deeper enough he can already tell how affected he’s been by a little bit of fooling around.

Then again Siegfried can’t claim to be any better or more composed, a bit of frustration blinking when the kiss was broken.

“How far do you want to take this?...tonight.” The last part is spoken like almost an afterthought.

If he were to be honest, he’d like this casual thing of theirs to become more than just a one time thing. Siegfried learned to keep in his carnal desires in check for the sake of his duty and he does it willingly, but release with someone he knows and is attracted to is much better than finding someone unknown in one of the many towns they always land in.

“Your hand will suffice. If something else is left for another night that is.”

Lancelot blinks with that cute expression of his, neutral but enough emotion in his eyes to show he’s been taken aback by the situation. It only lasts for the faintest of moments before he nods, prompting Siegfried to pull him towards the bed until they’re sitting on it. Those fingers wander again over his skin with more confidence, lingering ever so slightly on the jagged scar mass that is his side.

And instead of kissing him again he leans to bite gently at the skin of his neck, shifting limbs until Lancelot is straddling Siegfried’s thigh, able to feel the beginnings of an erection against his muscles. 

Siegfried answers by tilting his neck to the side, hand settling firmly and splayed open on Lancelot’s ass as gentle teeth and wet tongue leave the faintest of marks below the edge of his jaw, undoubtedly hidden by his hair or clothes at all times. 

The sharpness of the action leaves him curious as to the rest. It usually would be him doing such a thing, but he finds this of waiting and receiving whatever Lancelot wants strangely refreshing.

And of course pleasurable. It shouldn’t surprise him the fact he knows what to do in order to bring pleasure to another man, not with the hand that follows the trail of hair from his navel to just over the edge of his pants, dipping underneath the elastic band but brushing his half hard dick over his underwear. It twitches and he exhales sharply when Lancelot begins to palm him to fullness, grinding ever so slightly his own dick in Siegfried’s thigh.

It's a rhythm they settle in easily enough, Lancelot continuing to leave faint, almost invisible marks as he palms Siegfried while the other thrusts into that warm hand. It's quick to build but he's not keen in going over the edge like this and sets a hand on Lancelot's chest to push him away slightly. 

He withdraws immediately, worry in his eyes and a question, probably apology in the tip of his tongue that is stopped in its tracks by Siegfried removing his shirt, tossed somewhere on the bed. Then those hands go to the edge of Lancelot’s shirt as well, letting his rough palms feel that slim waist and torso on their way up, dragging the shirt as he goes. 

Lancelot lifts his arms to aid and they’re both shirtless in no time at all, even if the not quite hesitation hasn’t vanished from Lancelot’s eyes from that fumble. It’s his turn to ask now, sliding the full width of his palm over a defined back, voice rough against the curve of a jaw, barely dragging his lips over warm skin as he talks.

“Alright?”

He can almost hear Lancelot swallow and feel the shiver that runs down his spine, answered by a single affirming hum and the fingers that trace the dip of his bicep into the hollow of his elbow.

It’s a bit of a hassle to remove their pants at this point so he mimics what Lancelot did for him, undoing the fastenings and tug his clothes down enough he could grasp at their dicks together, clumsy grip notwithstanding it still pulled a hiss out of Lancelot, the knight captain panting softly in rhythm with Siegfried’s rough breaths.

“Sig...fried-san…”

Lancelot moans against his neck as his hand moves faster, slicker with the precum coming out and making the friction both easier and more delicious. Their lust beckons to press together, enjoying the sensation of bare skin against the other as hands move in a frenzied pace, gasping against the dip of a neck, hips stuttering in an attempt to get the most before he tumbles over the edge.

It’s Lancelot who comes first, gasp caught in his throat, nails digging almost painfully in his bicep in search for an anchor as his cum makes the grip on his dick hotter and slicker, his hips thrusting in order to tease out the last sparks of pleasure as orgasm fills his body. 

And then his hand knocks away Siegfried’s replacing that rough grip with his own.

“Didn’t you ask for my hand Siegfried-san?” Lancelot sounded out of breath, but even if he couldn’t see his face he could picture the expression he must have on his face, half determination, half teasing as those long fingers continued his earlier work.

His hands were rough as a swordsman but different from Siegfried’s, difference in texture bringing a sharp exhale, almost a moan as pleasure continued to build, a restrained sound fading into an airy breath of relief as he comes as well, dirtying Lancelot’s hand with more semen.

The room is long left with their combined panting, catching their breath together and enjoying the rush of endorphins through their bodies, Lancelot now somewhat slumped against Siegfried. 

The press of warm skin against his feels good so Siegfried doesn’t move, breathing in the musk of sweat and sex that clings to them after this. 

“Thank you for indulging me, Lancelot.”

It brings a single, incredulous laugh out from the man in his arms, pulling back only slightly so he can peek at Siegfried. Blush across his nose and hair in disarray, coupled with the way his lips look wet and pink it makes him want to push him on his back, get some proper release together and sheathe deep inside until Lancelot can do nothing but try to hold on.

Unfortunately it was an early morning not from him only but Lancelot as well, and kept inside the promise for more later tucked away.

“I think it would be me of all people the one who would have to thank you Siegfried-san.”

His expression of surprise morphs into that of amusement and he leans back ever so slightly, as if settling slightly better in this not quite pillow talk, mess between their legs ignored for the time being. His expression turns a bit serious however and Siegfried has an idea of what he might ask already.

“When you said about leaving something for later…” He trails off a bit and the red color in his face brightens noticeably.

“Is it not agreeable to you?” 

He _had_ asked while having his leg humped, so perhaps it was for the best Lancelot brought it up again in clearer surroundings.

“No, I… just wanted to make sure you would still like the idea.” 

“I don’t have much experience with these kinds of casual arrangements, so I wasn't quite sure how to ask.”

At that Siegfried blinked once. Perhaps he had overestimated his experience going from his previous actions and he silently chided himself to not jump to conclusions like that. Even if he told himself he knew Lancelot pretty well, more than himself in some parts, he did not know all of him in order to make assumptions as such.

“I do.”

That simple admission seemed to fluster Lancelot even more somehow to the point he could almost see the gears turning in his head at full speed. 

Such a small gesture that brings a small smile to his face.  
  
It makes him look forward to the future.


	2. Chapter 2

Even after the quick bath he had taken after waking up, after dressing in clean, unsullied clothes and armor and consequently staining them with sweat and blood, both monster and his.

Even after all that, Lancelot could almost imagine he still smelled of Siegfried on him. 

It was preposterous, product of his overdrive imagination and attempts to keep what had happened last night in the back of his mind, and yet it was left circling in his thoughts, quieted momentarily by battle but risen now that he was left to deal with the aftermath.

It had been an uneventful mission up until one of their teammates, a young female draph, had frozen up in fear at the sudden appearance of a swarm of slimes. They had been harmless themselves, but had left her open to the claws of the wolves looking for an opportunity and he’d not quite blocked as fast as he’d have liked.

The sturdy metal stopped the claws without a scratch but the strength of the blow was enough to dislocate his shoulder, not severely, but enough that making use of his left arm was an arduous, painful task for the rest of the fight.

It was nothing but an annoyance, something he could patch up and seek help for himself, but the girl was distraught and immediately pulled him once onboard to sit down and be healed. She’d been gently shooed away and his shoulder promptly reset and bandaged, left to his own devices as he was the one sent away this time, to his own room.

Lancelot’s shoulder throbs in dull pain, the warmth of an recent injury radiating from his skin but he ignores it, pulling a clean black shirt on over as quickly and painless as he could, hissing at the strain with a slight grimace.

He looks at the blue armor lying in a heap on the floor and proceeds to pick up the pieces he had haphazardly tossed aside the moment he had stepped inside, namely the grime encrusted pauldrons, and fetches a half-buried cleaning rag before the goop and gore in it solidified.

They’d been quick with the mission, and honestly Lancelot had been a superfluous addition at the beginning, until the slime swarm had unexpectedly arrived. Even if it had ended with him being needlessly injured, it made him feel slightly better about opening his mouth like that yesterday.

He sighed, not being able to postpone any longer the mulling of the topic, especially as he had not been able to think about it while lying in bed yesterday, exhaustion having caught up to him the moment he slid into bed.

He wanted to be with Siegfried, but not in the way he usually did or even just only the way they had just started yesterday.

But it’s not like he had any idea how to make it happen or if he really wanted Siegfried for himself only in that way. It felt selfish, incredibly selfish and even if at some rational level he understood it was normal to feel that way, the earnest, innocent crush and desire to monopolize his time from his younger days in the Black Dragons had morphed into something far stronger, possessive, intense, unyielding.

He wanted to go back to how things were before, back then. Except he did not want to either and he sights in frustration, tossing side the clean pauldron and picking up the chest plate.

It was not the first time he had slipped, but the only one that had been such an obvious slip of the mouth even someone like Siegfried would notice. 

That, or so obvious he already knew but had no choice but to answer to, just one shy step behind saying ‘I desire you’. 

He sighed before scrubbing harder on a particularly deep embedded speck of slime jelly in the little filigree crevices of the chest plate, thoughts racing all the while.

He...he was not expecting Siegfried to reciprocate his intentions to be honest. Did not even consider it as a possibility, even if he had felt his pointed gaze more than once, enough that even someone as he in those early Black Dragon days, could surmise he was interested in.

But he’d never approached Lancelot with anything further than platonic camaraderie and detached chain of command. It had been not until too long ago he thought they might be able to call themselves friends at last to tell the truth.

Though that had been almost entirely his fault, setting him in such a high pedestal and subconsciously blocking any attempts to further beyond a mentor and an apprentice. A captain and his vice captain.

It had only made his perceived fall from grace harder and deeper in hindsight,  _ wrongfully, blinded to the truth and unable to truly decipher the truth of the matter, of course Percival had left, of course he could not stand to be surrounded by people who were unable to see beyond what was told in their face and scratch not even a little further- _

He took a deep breath and stilled his hand, corner already wiped clean before his thoughts had started to spiral down further.

He had already beat himself over such things far too many times, even before Isabella had imprisoned him and after he’d escaped. It may have been an oversight on his part, but there would be nothing to be made better by overthinking all the things that had gone wrong, whatever might have happened if he had done something else instead.

He took another deep breath, feeling a slight twinge from his shoulder but paid it no mind.

No, there would be nothing to be gained by dwelling needlessly on the bygones. And just as his past self had barreled through all the obvious hints into only what had been explicitly said, his present self needed to do anything but that. The fate of a country did not hang on it, but he would not allow it to be brushed aside as a lesser concern. Not until he had ascertained the things he might have missed until now.

He rinsed the cloth, scrubbing again while gathering his thoughts in order.

Siegfried desired him, and it was not something like just indulging him once in his whims but actively requested it to be continued further.

Lancelot had agreed, even if now with a cool head he was slightly apprehensive about it. 

They were both willing and wanting, and no talk of...romantic feelings had surfaced so he was to expect it to be left as a no strings attached arrangement, right?

Siegfried had greeted him normally in the morning even if there had been that smile for the slightest moment before his mask was pulled down in order to fight. He’d looked silently but not worried as the captain had set the shoulder back in place, before the draph had insisted in proper medical treatment at any rate and dragged him off at the vanguard of their little group on the trek back. 

He’d vaguely heard the captain and Siegfried exchange some words but wasn’t quite able to make them out, arriving far too quickly back to the ship and sit down on the infirmary immediately.

There hadn’t been time to exchange more than one or two words with him, but it’s not as if he had something else to say to him.

Didn’t he?

The cloth has turned murky with blood and grime so he sets to rinse the cloth as best as he can before proceeding with the arm pieces he had removed, still wearing the full set on his left one and only forearm and gauntlet on his right. 

Was there something else he needed to ask of him? Everything swirling in his mind seemed to be his own doubts when the situation had been made clear already. 

It wouldn’t be easy, but this time, at least for this one occasion, perhaps he could try to not think too hard about it.

Sexual release had not been encouraged but also not frowned upon between the ranks back then and even now, even if he had hesitantly sought and was sought after more than once. It was understood such things were only casual, even if there had indeed been serious relationships that sprung from those encounters more than once. Perhaps this was only something like this-no this was definitely it.

Even if his previous experience had been anything but extensive, it had not been a bad one. Only his lack of knowledge in anything not his duty damns him in such situations.

He huffs a heavy exhale, before trying to set his resolve. 

Until there was something significant enough to make him rethink of it, this would be something he would try to not overthink of. Siegfried surely expected nothing more than tumbling with someone he desired and was familiar with and that is what he would get.

Perhaps this would help Lancelot break down further the remnants of the pedestal he had placed his mentor on at last. 

Siegfried deserved that, at the very least. 

"How is your shoulder?" 

Siegfried's face isn't worried despite the question and Lancelot twists it a bit to punctuate his response. 

"All better now, it wasn't serious to begin with."

"I see. That is a relief."

There it was again, that pleased small smile, before he turns back and see those who were currently fighting in the deck. 

It had been an odd sight during the Black Dragon but far more frequent these days, and Lancelot wondered if this was the Siegfried before his mentor had been made a captain that was returning. One freed from the burdens and expectations of having an order at his command. 

It doesn't surprise him that part of this freedom means training whenever he wants, rather than instead whenever time allowed from. Lancelot thinks he understands that feeling all too well, even if he was unable to participate in such things as he was in this moment. 

His mentor however, was not, observing the slight tapping of his index finger against his knee, metal tip producing a distinctive sound as he waited for his turn to come. Lancelot opts to lean back on some stacked crates beside him and watch, ever so slightly impatient for Siegfried's turn to come as well. 

When it finally does, his eyes track every single motion in his frame, overt and subtle, from the fluttering to his cape to the waves of hair that sway with each powerful swing of the blade in his hands. 

Lancelot thinks once again, that he smells Siegfried on himself. 

He's remarkably more alright with the idea this time. 


	3. Chapter 3

There is a letter addressed for him, one he can almost guess the sender without looking at the remittent scrawl.

It is only addressed to as “Siegfried” of the Grandcypher but he supposes it’s all that is needed these days to get a letter delivered to this specific ship these days.

He isn’t disappointed, recognizing immediately the neat handwriting inside, almost hearing the voice of its sender as he reads through it.

_ Siegfried, _

_ The newest results on the Weser river have shown a decrease of the leftover pollutants to just under 9% of the amount recorded 2 months ago. _

_ Local tests have shown the dramatic reduction of leftover symptoms on the nearby villages to the point none of them are life threatening anymore, the most severe as impairing as a mild cold. However decreasing the remaining percentage of Karmide in the water is proving to be more difficult than expected. Similar to the buried orbs we found, perhaps there were some we overlooked last time somewhere in the riverbed.  _

_ I hope you find yourself in good health, and please give my regards to the captain and Percival as well. Hopefully by the time we meet again I can deliver better news and be able to finally put this at rest behind us. _

_ Lancelot. _

Even if he was no longer his captain, Lancelot still sent him regular progress reports on the situation regarding Karmide. He’d claimed it was the least he could do, since his visits to the Grandcypher weren’t as frequent as they could be due to his duties, and Siegfried wasn’t able to return just yet regularly to Feendrache.

Well, he could, but it didn’t feel right. He’d only be butting in needlessly to the progress Lancelot and Vane were doing themselves on their own. 

Feendrache needed only one hero for them to gaze upon in hope and adoration, and it was not to be him this time.

There was a small package that came with the letter, careful hands untying strings and unwrapping the brown paper it was surrounded by. 

Inside sat a set of glass bottles, three of them with a familiar label and despite the cork sealed with wax, he could already smell the fragrance inside. He’d only mentioned once, in the handful of encounters they’d had before Lancelot was scheduled to return to the capital, and yet.

Yet here they were in his grasp. 

It was not that this particular oil had specific calming properties that couldn’t be reproduced, he’d been able to find at least 3 different replacements with a far greater distribution network over the years he’d been away from Feendrache. But the specific mixture of spices and ingredients that made up this…

Well he might be able to call it nostalgic.

He takes the letter opener, removing carefully the wax from one of the bottles. Once the cork is open, fragrance immediately spreads throughout the room like a wave. He gently tilts it until a few drops drip on his fingers, rubbing them together and feeling the strange sensation of warmth and coolness that acts at the same time on his skin.

Satisfied, he wipes down his hand on the fabric of his pants, corking carefully the bottle and half-wrapping it again to set aside until he could store it properly, before picking up a fresh sheet and digging for an ink bottle somewhere on his desk.

Even if it was a short one, perhaps a small note of gratitude was to suffice.

And yet, his hand hovers over the paper long enough a big fat drop of ink splashes on the parchment, staining it irredeemably and betraying at a single glance his indecisiveness.

Somehow it doesn’t feel quite right to just send a note thanking for such a small gift, not without offering one of his in return.

He’s not able to contemplate his probable answer for long however when there is a knock at his room, letter forgotten as he stands to open his door.

* * *

His gift does not go unnoticed, Percival staring at him with slightly curious eyes and head tilted to the side when he steps outside, a few days later. 

But he says nothing to acknowledge Lancelot’s gift, only looking pointedly at him while also not before turning his gaze away to the people looking expectantly as the sparring session continues.

He would not participate this time. Even if for just a few hours, that letter had brought back distant words said once in a shaded garden under the moonlight. Even someone such as he needed to step back and recognize he was only one person, only one human.

Returning to these scheduled breaks was...not an easy task. Even if it had been well over a year since his name had been cleared, it had been more since he’d been forced to run and fulfill his king’s last wish. Just as then, he saw no need for them...but he had not seen it for a many other things at the beginning. Some, even years. 

So he ignores the itch to put his armor back on, to pick up his weapon and watches instead everyone that gazes intently towards the dueling couple. 

The seven-star sword is missing from Gran’s grasp this time, a blade of darkness instead in his hand, overshadowed by the pure white of his clothes. His opponent is none other than that young woman that joined them recently, Jeanne, he remembers.

There’s a lull in the match now, both opponents sizing each other up, tension clear in the air enough to drum up his muscles in anticipation.

But he takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the oil that seeps into his tired muscles and the excitement dissipates enough to focus without expectation of his turn. It clears his mind enough to notice the minuscule motions of Percival beside him.

The young lord’s eyes are intent on the fight, following every move, parry, slash. Every dodge and feint, the flutter of white coattails and black, tattered fabric. White cloth and golden armor against bleeding red.

No, that isn’t quite right, he realizes. Percival’s eyes are focused on only one of the fighters, eyes following every move rather than taking on the entire scene. 

The match doesn’t take long, both barely breaking a sweat before Gran takes a step back. He takes a deep breath and there’s a hum of power resonating in his veins, a hum everyone else can feel as the blade lights up with a dark, eerie glow. 

Percival’s hand becomes a fist immediately, clawed tips scraping against each other and digging into the fabric of those gloves. 

He understands the why of it, as Jeanne wobbles slightly and is almost brought to her knees as if caught by a severe, if brief moment of weakness. It’s all the captain needs to close the distance and parry away a scarlet blade, to point the wicked edge of his against that girl’s, millimeters away from her nose.

“I guess this one is yours then, my captain Gran~” But Jeanne only laughs loud and clear and there it is again the scraping of metal, faint enough most people wouldn't hear. But he is not most people and he sees the twitch of Percival’s lips, a frown just slightly deeper than usual in disapproval.

Gran’s nose is bleeding slightly but he only wipes it away perfunctorily with the back of his hand, staining that bright white as Jeanne leans closer, whispering something Siegfried doesn’t have enough knowledge of to surmise and knows no context of.

The scent of an otherworlder is always fresh on her, as if she had bathed in its essence,  _ as if she had been consumed by it, a flash of gold hair and blue armor in the midst of the flesh- _ , but something in her demeanor never lets him think of her as nothing more than someone to keep tabs on.

It is not the same as when Aglovale had willingly been swallowed by that creature in order to achieve his goals. But without further knowledge, there is nothing else he can do about it.

Percival is still wearing that frown as he takes his place to fight the captain, more ruthless than usual even if forbid by Rackam from using his flames onboard.

Years of observing knights train to spot their weaknesses is a hard ingrained habit, and Percival keeps looking at Gran’s hand, the one stained with fresh blood, as they clash and retreat. A bloody nose is far from the worst scratch borne out of training that opponents have had while sparring with Percival so it holds Siegfried’s attention that the younger knight is particularly taken with that detail.

It ends the same way, with Gran unlocking the power of that dark blade and Percival brought to one knee by the onslaught of that reaping wave of invisible power. And yet it is not the captain who wins, as Percival drops his weapon and pushes his vambrace to block the strike, using his knelt position to spring upright and twist his arm, using Gran’s own weapon to press it against the young captain’s neck.

There’s a surprised sound from the younger man and then laughter.

“I guess you win this time Percival!” 

His voice is cheerful while the other man slowly releases his position, picking up that red sword to sheathe it, before reaching inside a pocket and offering a pristine handkerchief to the captain.

His frown has deepened, seemingly angered even further, but this is an expression he knows well enough to understand it’s anything but.

Apparently the captain does as well.

“Eh? Ah, I am fine! Don’t worry, don’t worry-“

“Just take it already!”

Siegfried’s lips curve in the slightest of smiles at that, fading as he notices the careful hovering, arm barely touching his back as he begins to scold the captain for awakening that blade twice in a row without resting.

There is something he is missing from this picture, but Siegfried cannot point at it.

He wonders if king Josef would’ve known.

* * *

He realizes a few weeks later that he has been hoarding the bottles

An unconscious motion he takes notice of when it has been such a length of time and he has not even drained half of the first one.

And yet, it feels like he has been using more, going by the persistent aroma that surrounds him. Perhaps the wood, the fabric, the objects in this room have absorbed the scent enough it feels like a fresh inhale whenever he enters it.

Perhaps it simply is his mind playing him tricks, but if it was, what was the reason for it to crave such a stimuli enough to replicate it subconsciously?

Even if he knew the mix contained varaunus bloom, it had never affected him beyond mild relaxation, something a hot cup of green tea could easily achieve with the same intensity.

It’s not a persistent question, only allowing it to float to the forefront of his mind in these moments where he sits in the middle of his room, breathing quiet and in tempo with the beating of his heart in purpose.

Even before Fafnir it had been something he’d shared with king Josef, but after it he found it was an useful way to focus on certain things now that his senses were heightened, a way to catalog consciously and let his mind wander to the correct answer instead of hurrying to it overzealously.

A small smile springs on his lips, the vague image of people who might benefit from it passing by fleetingly in his mind’s eye.

Perhaps the most simple and correct answer was that there was none to be gleaned in this moment.

The next day, the fresh scent of varaunus and helianthia fill the room and disperse, aided by the breeze coming from the open window. Siegfried tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear and dips his pen into ink, words flowing with the ease of a practiced hand and a calm heart.

* * *

_ Lancelot, _

_ It is reassuring to hear that things are going well on your end, It’s been overdue to finally start putting it behind by those who have been affected directly or indirectly. Including us.  _

_ But sometimes taking a step back to reevaluate the situation and let it run its course for a few moments might be better in the end. _

_ I thank you for your gift, it has been most useful so far. Should any new developments arise, i will endeavor to communicate at the first opportunity. _

_ Siegfried. _

Lancelot rereads the letter again, rocking back precariously in his chair and bumping a couple of times the table full of papers, haphazardly stacked books and numerous miscellaneous items.

“Taking a step back, huh?”

He did have a tendency to have a tunnel vision on certain topics… one such as this it might be argued.

...No, one most definitely like this.

His research these past weeks had slowed to a halt, no matter how many expeditions he’d sent to dredge up sections of the river and even participated personally on, no more than three karmide orbs had been dug up. Certainly not near enough to justify the latent effects still affecting the villagers.

For all that karmide itself was a potent poison, the container itself that resulted from creating alma was surprisingly efficient. The large levels of contamination had sprung from the sheer quantity they had found dispersed in the river and valley and such it was improbable for such a small amount to be the cause.

He huffs out a sigh but something near a grin tugs at his lips. He’d not asked for guidance but it had been freely given, as if Siegfried had guessed he’d be stuck in such a conundrum once again.

He’d worked his men hard on this endeavor so perhaps it was time to put it aside at last, not abandoned but no longer a priority and focus on other things that they desperately needed attention as weeks, as months made them only more obvious.

Perhaps it was time to start convening with the proctors again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varaunus herb is in this story pretty much the equivalent of dragon catnip. Skydwellers use it as a relaxing agent in simple salves. Given that Siegfried’s blood is dormant, he only receives a mild effect, while someone like Stan who constantly has his dragon blood active would be drowsy and sleepy.
> 
> Scathacha would be full on high but that also depends if she’s on her dragon form or Erune one. 
> 
> Given that today is white day i figured it would be alright to update this. I’m getting close to editing out my backlog so it’s time to start writing again.


	4. Chapter 4

_ Drop. Drop. Drop.  _

The dungeon is cold and humid, condensation from his previous attempts to free himself have backfired, stone leaking water and hitting him occasionally to wake him up and interrupt any modicum of rest he might've obtained in this position. 

Isabella force feeds him stale bread and simple water. He knows the water is laced with something that prevents him to use his magic properly but after the third day his body betrays him in need of it. 

Keeping alive is a stronger necessity now, is what he repeats in order to not feel guilty. It works, some of the time.

His back is freezing. A drop falls every other moment, just as he thinks he can close his eyes and let himself pass out for a few minutes, interrupting that blessed almost moment of unconsciousness.

Someone will come. But he can’t wait for them eternally either. 

Another drop falls on his back, and he opens his eyes in a start.

The room is much darker and he is on his side. He can barely see the outline of a room filled with books, strewn with clothes and armor pieces. It takes a few seconds, afraid to even breathe as he processes the scene to remember where he is.

He sits up gingerly, taking stock of his body. His shirt has ridden up high, exposing the small of his back to the cold air. His wrists are warm, shackle scars faded against his skin.

A small pool of water comes easily to his hand when he conjures it with barely a thought as he realizes he is drenched in cold sweat. He conjures more to wash his face, uncaring of the drops that slide down his face and chest.

“I am Lancelot, captain of the order of white dragons.”

He repeats it once, twice, thrice. The static in his ears diminishes, but not the sound of the constant drip of water, nor the gleeful voice of Isabella that the deepest recesses of his mind conjures.

He swings his legs to the side of the bed and stands up. It is silly, feels silly, but it is not the first time that he had hallucinated freedom during his imprisonment, and almost broke him each time he realized it for the mirage it was.

He feels it to not be true, to be real in his body but his traitorous mind whispers of new magic tricks that Isabella could’ve conjured. Of things that would’ve healed his body but not his mind and set him on such a predicament.

Lancelot’s hands are shaking but he lights up a small candle, throwing into relief and detail the mess he has in his desk. Such detail wouldn’t be possible for such an illusion, not even from her and her found otherworldly powers.

He picks with trembling fingers the first letter he sees and reads first the date of the missive.

A weight leaves his shoulders, counting back and realizing it has been almost 2 years since his imprisonment. Since his release and the demise of the former advisor.

It is something mundane but he rereads the missive, a weekly report from the southern garrison regarding the budget for the next month. The more information his eyes read, the more it trickles back in his memories, until he sighs deeply by the time he reaches the end of the letter, running a hand over his still damp face.

He picks up the next letter, feeling both relief and guilt spring in his chest. 

It is not the best time to compose a letter to his village, to his parents, much less confide this which torments him in the dead of the night. They are the people he wishes least to see him in such a state, but writing a false letter he will never send, not when one is already in the way speaking of lesser, mundane troubles and happier things. 

His pen scratches as it has done before, speaking of the darkness that nips at his talons, biting him like a dog in ceaseless pursuit whenever he is caught unaware and how hard it is to shake it off each time. How it should be easier, especially as time passes but it does not. It only becomes more infrequent.

Perhaps that is what people mean when it becomes easier in the end.

His hands tremble a bit less when he realizes he can’t quite remember if Isabella had a mole in her chin or above her left eyebrow, not as he used to recall in perfect clarity the first few months. His writing becomes clearer as he works back from those old aches to newer ones.

He almost feels himself again, not in perfect control like the proud and exemplary captain of the white dragons should, but like Lancelot himself. 

It’s a start.

He is freezing, but without will to leave this chair just yet. Not when it means changing into dry clothing and stripping his bedding for new one. The fitful sleep and subsequent fear and dread and terror has him exhausted, even if the slump of his shoulders is no longer from his mistaken memories.

This is not something he can burden Vane with. Percival, or the captain either. He hesitates at the face that crosses his mind, but then shakes his head again. No, not even Siegfried, even if he would be the most understanding of his situation.

He knows full well this is something to be confided in with someone, but fear, pride; they always make the words stick to his throat so they’re unable to come out. These unsent letters are his only solace, and when his pen runs out of thoughts, of worries to scratch in dark ink, he rereads the ramblings of a bent man. Not quite broken, but certainly showing stress fractures like an ill tempered sword. 

And once he has committed them to memory, no matter how ridiculous in hindsight they seem, he brings the paper to flame, watching with rapt eyes, letting it be consumed until only ashes remain.

* * *

It’s been only a couple of months, but it almost feels longer when he waits at the port, watching the docking maneuvers of the Grandcypher with rapt eyes and a straight posture.

“Lancelot! Vane! It’s nice to see you again!”

His cheerful voice rings out above the cacophony of sounds belonging to an average port. Has Gran grown taller since the last time they saw him?

Lyria and Vyrn are close by with similar greetings, Vane procuring an apple almost out of thin air for the red dragon to accept and devour in glee.

As he catches on with the captain of the crew, he doesn’t quite realize he’s searching for a specific figure until he spots it on the corner of his eye descending from the vessel.

There is a decently sized travel bag in his grasp but he tucks that away until he reaches their little group, waiting as they are for Rackam to finalize the paperwork and for the rest of the members that are disembarking today.

“S-“

“Siegfried-san! It’s nice to see you again!” Vane beats him to the greeting and he ends up only nodding to support it. 

“Likewise.” He only smiles and nods in acknowledgement towards the greeting. Perhaps it’s time to address that which he carries with him, a small bubble of excitement growing at the idea, but not quite voicing it clearly even in his thoughts to entertain it lest it be squashed.

“Are you staying for a while, Siegfried-san?”

“I am. I fear i’ve reached the limit of what i can do from a distance, so I hope you won’t mind me imposing for a while.”

Even if he wanted, he wouldn’t have been able to stop the instant grin that became of his mouth, though he did try to contain a bit the emotion in his voice. They were in public after all.

“You’re welcome anytime you want to come back for a bit though Siegfried-san, that goes for you two too.” 

“‘Sides, we’re stayin’ for a couple days too!” Vyrn flitted a bit in the air, stretching his wings wide while hovering near Lyria’s shoulder.

“I figured this would be a good spot for a bit of a rest stop for us and the crew if you don’t mind us imposing.” Gran explained and Vane just shook his head with a grin.

“Nah, you’re no bother at all! It’s not spring but maybe we can hike again! I have another spot on my sights i wanna try...and Siegfried-san can come too! What do you say?” Vane slung an arm around Gran’s shoulders in excitement, then looked at Siegfried with the same expression.

Of course, he agreed. Nobody could say no to such a request, especially coming from Vane.

“I don’t see why not. It should be an interesting endeavor.”

“Maybe we can ask Percy-huh, where is he by the way?”

“About that…”

* * *

“This will be your room, Siegfried-san.” 

It was empty, only the bare necessities of an empty wardrobe, a bare bed, some chairs, a small sofa and a desk. Given the...forced downsizing they had to make after Isabella’s exposure and her subsequent return, many officers had been summarily discharged, locked up to serve sentences in many cases and freeing up the same number of rooms.

It was not as big as the captain’s quarters, but it was not small by any means either as well. It was also close enough to his, and Vane’s room should for some reason request their assistance readily.

Lancelot tried not to dwell in the implications of that, even if he would not deny anything either to himself.

He observes as Siegfried gives everything a cursory glance and hums, leaving his bag in the bed. 

After so long living in the Grandcypher, he’d thought perhaps there would be more in the way of personal belongings for his mentor, but it did not seem to be the case somehow.

“This will do, I thank you Lancelot.”

Siegfried turns back to him while talking, and those bright yellow eyes pin him in place even the few steps apart as they are.

These empty rooms are aired every few days, but somehow Lancelot feels he cannot breathe for a moment as his brain catches up to the idea that they are alone once again, together.

Faint chatter and sounds from the hall beyond remind him they are not in the Grandcypher anymore however. And while they are not captain and vice-captain anymore, he is still the captain of the Order of White Dragons and there is decorum to be had in plain daylight. 

He clears his throat and looks aside, powerless to stop the heat creeping to his ears as he regains his thoughts and straightens them up, before daring to hold his gaze steady at Siegfried as he talks again.

“I...if you need something don’t hesitate to ask for it. I may not be available but Vane can also help you with whatever you need.”

“I will keep it in mind, Lancelot.”

“Then, if you’ll excuse me.”

It was like dragging himself out of there against his will, even as he knew there was nothing else for him to do and would only be intruding as Siegfried settled in. Because what else was there to show him in a castle that his mentor had lived in for many years before Lancelot himself had? When he still knew places Lancelot was just discovering after ignoring them for so long?

No, he would not act like a clingy child, and reminded himself there were many things to do, especially if Vane fulfilled his threat of scheduling time in a few days for them to hike away.

* * *

It is only when the inside of his arm is painfully grazed by a scattered metal quill nib that Lancelot stops working, rubbing at his eyes to shake the tiredness away and looks at the window.

The sky is pitch dark, even if it is not quite as due the half moon hanging high in the sky. It is late enough for dinner to be inappropriate, but not enough to consider going to sleep just yet. His shoulders crack and pop as he stretches in his chair and stands up. A cup of coffee would do him good and while what he prepared was not the best, it was at the very least decent.

The vice-captain’s door is dark, no light peeking from underneath and he surmises he went to sleep already. Though considering the hour he woke up for personal training and breakfast it was only to be expected.

His mind skips the similarly dark doors of absent rooms, until he comes across one where a small beam of light is noticeable. He stares in confusion for a moment before remembering it is no longer unoccupied and now belonging to Siegfried. 

What is he doing up at this hour?

Before he can dwell on it, a voice calls for him from the inside.

“Come in.”

There’s no option for him but to obey as he quietly opens it to a bare, but no longer empty room. 

His usual clothes and armor are shed, sword propped against the wall. There is a stack of paper and a few books already in the desk alongside a small candle burning, the source of the light that intrigued him.

“Lancelot. How can I help you?”

He does not seem surprised by the fact it is him the one beyond the door. Had he been expecting him somehow?

“I apologize for the intrusion. I saw a light and for a moment i forgot this room was no longer empty. But...I’ll get used to it in no time.”

Siegfried only looks at him with a small smile.

“I see.”

The window is open, carrying a fresh breeze from the inside and stirring up the familiar scent of herbs and soothing oils. He’d received the letter thanking him for the gift...but he did not allow himself to think about Siegfried using it, until this very moment as he swallows, throat suddenly dry.

The dragonslayer stares, sitting in a chair at the desk but now facing him. 

Patient, quiet. 

Lancelot hopes he is not misreading the situation as he slides in the lock of the door behind him.

The trepidation vanishes from his mind as he walks to him, hand steady as he tucks away a stray lock of hair behind his ear. A breath he did not know he was holding when Siegfried leans in the touch of his hand and tilts his face to brush his lips to the inside of Lancelot’s wrist, right over the edge where warm skin gives way to wrinkled sleeves.

Siegfried’s scent is intoxicating, all too easy to lose himself in it as gentle, chapped lips descend on his.

There is no room for doubt tonight, no room for worries. 

There is only Siegfried and him tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I have been brewing this since the SIEGFRIED event and i finally can bring myself to start posting! 
> 
> This is set after Between Frost and Flame, Lancelot’s lvl 100 fate episode and follows chronologically the rest of the DK storyline so far, however there will be some flashback chapters indicated before in an author’s note at the start.
> 
> It will alternate between Siegfried and Lancelot but might be set in another character’s voice in some occasions.
> 
> There will be graphic depiction of torture and injuries, likewise stated before the chapter begins.
> 
> Thank you for coming to read this! If you want to yell more about these two feel free to find me in twitter!


End file.
